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Thursday, April 26, 2012

“Okay, yeah. We’ll meet by the arch. If I can get to the
arch…” Christen said as I exited the Union
Square N train. It was a weekend, so of course the
trains were slow and of course they were unexpectedly running express. This
meant I’d had to get off at a stop about 10 blocks up from my final
destination.

“Just get here SOON!” she said.

“I’m trying! I’m running!” I screamed back to her as I took
off down University.

And oh was I running.

Through the foot traffic I sprinted, with my shoes unhappily
biting the backs of unprotected heels. A purse was slapping my left leg while a
fluffy pillow flopped to-and-fro on the right, occasionally brushing a passerby
who dared to walk too close. I was, at
my best, slightly apologetic.

Because I was trying to make it to a city-wide pillow fight.

All of Washington
Square Park
was overrun by pillow whapping students, adults, and the occasional elderly
couple. Though feather stuffing had been forbidden, it looked as though a hundred
birds were flying above the large cotton-induced skirmish. (And a little known
fact about feathers: not entirely enjoyable to breathe in.)

But conquer this battle we did!

There might have even been a few warrior screams as we dove into
combat. After all, not every pillow would make it out alive.

Above is my version of National Pillow Fight Day, taken with an iPhone in the heat of battle. Unfortunately my computer isn't letting me upload the HD file, so below is a far better filmed and edited clip. Do enjoy - and then join us next year.

Friday, April 20, 2012

I strolled onto Pace University’s main campus. It had been
months since I’d made this trip, and it took me a second to remember where the
elevators were located. Down, down, deep into the tombs of New York concrete we
went. I’m always amazed by how much of this city is underground (or 40 floors
up in the atmosphere).

I dodged a Herff Jones salesman, and filled out some
graduate survey without remembering my student number. It was a busy day at the
office, and I’m always my most exhausted right after work. So I wondered over
to the Publishing table with a look probably best described as “zoned out.”
Grabbing my robe (which apparently I must return!?) and picking up tickets were
just errands to scratch off a to-do list.

But then I remembered: This will be the last and final graduation of my academic career.
There is no more education to come; no more certificates to be earned.

I’m finally done with school.

What a bittersweet relationship we had! All nighters, term
papers, thesis projects equivalent to that of a doctorial… yet still, I have a
twisted sort of love for the challenge and thrill of learning. No, not
regurgitating random Twitter feeds of knowledge. Actual learning, where your teacher says a fact that builds off of a detail you’ve already memorized, which suddenly makes sense with the way you process the
world.

Then again, I know it’s time to be done. I’ve recognized
this feeling of completion for the last semester or so. The real world beckons,
and it's practically beating down my door.

Oh and by the way….

Alohomora.

These graduation robes are horrendous. I mean, this is Harry
Potter material right here. What am I wearing? The Sorting Hat? No, just a cap
that’s too big with a winged robe.

And you know my parents will take pictures. LOTS of
pictures. Thus this Harry Potter moment will live on in infamy, through
Facebook and probably some Christmas card.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

My contact information for this blog is listed as thewhyblogger@gmail.com. But for some
reason, this account was always glitchy and problematic. So I forwarded all
incoming mail to my personal email address.

But in short, the mail was NOT forwarding. All your emails
were sitting, waiting patiently in my sad and misunderstood inbox.

I am so sorry! I feel terrible. A few of you were
interested in Martha Stewart Living internships or publishing news. Please don’t
think I didn’t want to chat! I do, I do - I was simply unaware of your inquiries
and I promise to check the inbox more
often.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I was running out the door to a little gathering in Brooklyn
last Friday, when I realized – agh! – I had not eaten dinner. This is important
before venturing into the unknown New York evening. Thus, I began the often
futile search for food in my apartment.

Fridge? It was pretty empty. I’d had eggs for breakfast,
which meant I was in no mood to eat them again for dinner. We were also out of bread
and there weren't anymore apples.

Cabinets? Those were pretty empty too. Even I know you can’t
eat Tagalongs for dinner. And pasta seemed like a daunting task. But wait –
what was this?

Spaghettios!

Hello, childhood friend.

Now, mind you, I did not purchase this odd little soup for
myself. No, in fact my mother sent a can of it to me with the Tagalongs and a few other
Easter goodies. (Don’t you judge.)

But I needed to be walking towards the train within the next
3 minutes. So I did what I’ve done many times before. In fact, I’m sure I’ve
blogged about it at some point over the last two years.

Oh yes.

Cold soup.

Out of the can.

Forget the microwave.

This always made my college roommate gag.

Though I promise it’s really not
that bad.

(Permission to judge.)

But the best part of this whole ordeal? While I’m stuffing
Spaghettios in my face, and trying to avoid dripping anything on my dress,
Blink 182’s “What’s My Age Again” begins to play on my computer. If you don’t
know the lyrics, they go something like this:

Nobody
likes you when you're 23

And
you still act like you're in Freshman year

What
the hell is wrong with me?

My
friends say I should act my age

What's
my age again?

What's
my age again?

Yep. Thaaaat’s me! At the
ripe age of 23. I’m wearing heels and eating cold soup. At least my friends
don’t tell me to act my age. Nope… they’re just as bad. And let’s be honest;
our habits may not change that much before we’re 40.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Well kids, we’re coming up on two years time living in New
York City. A lot has changed, and a lot hasn’t. (I think that’s the way it
should be, no?) Anyway, despite most characteristics remaining intact from the pre-city days, there are a few new little quirks in my personality. Listed
below are the things I thought I’d never own, wear, see, or do:

I never thought I’d… not notice when a man dressed up as a
large male reproductive organ walked down the street next to me. I can’t say I
even blinked at the costume.

I never thought I’d… eat PB&J for nearly 9 months
straight.

Or bump into Stanley Tucci and see Steve Martin in the
subway.

I never thought I’d… carry 1 to 2 pocket knives in my purse
on any given day. And I never thought I’d pull said pocket knifes out of my purse.

I never thought I’d… wear a huge, puffy knee-length down
jacket. In fact, it was my uniform in the Winter of 2010-2011. May that coat
rest in peace for a few months.

I never thought I’d… do my laundry at a laundromat with
quarters and the whole schlep. I dreamed of big city living for a long time –
yet somehow laundry was never apart of those dreams.

I never thought I’d… drop Yiddish phrases in my blog posts (see above statement). Or eat a better bagel than one from Einstein’s.

Oh how wrong
I was.

I never thought I’d… dance on tables in the Lower East Side.

Or walk and walk and walk until every shoe (and I mean EVERY
shoe) has a hole in them.

I never thought I’d… catch a 3am train to Queens or a 4am
train to Manhattan.

I never thought I’d… pretty much pass out on 5th
Ave from sleep deprivation. Or email my resume and cover letter to so many companies (I believe my
whole generation can nod to this one).

I never thought I’d… have a natural affinity for
graffiti-covered bathrooms, PBR, hummus, and hollandaise sauce.

I never thought I’d… have a pigeon poop on my head.

I never thought I’d… have dinner with drag queens or get
tips from a homeless man about living on the street.

I never thought I’d… meet such interesting, fabulous people
who I encounter everyday and depend on incessantly.

I never thought I’d… wear so many colored tights, layers, headbands,
hats, leather, or satchel bags. But it’s just so easy!

I never thought I’d… be in a photo shoot or a fashion show.
And I didn’t think I’d see a movie before it was released or participate in a
100+ person pillow fight.

I never thought I’d… feel so low or so high, or feel so much
from a constantly morphing life among the extremes, where your values are
tested and your ideals are tempted to both wither and mature within the exact
same second.

I never thought I’d… be so scared of cockroaches.

Or be so fond of green grass on trips home.

And I never thought you’d… read this blog.

So thank you.

Oh also, I never thought I'd... almost punch my sister in the face when she came up behind me in a bookstore. Personality quirk. What can I say? Don't reach for my purse G-race.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

First, the family is awesome and sent me a package of Girl Scout cookies, chocolates, movies, and more. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I will be fat and happy.

Second, how horrifying is this? My clown neighbor now has bunnies that watch me as I walk down the street. I must admit, I'm slightly terrified one of these plush fellows is secretly him and it will turn it's head Chucky-style while I'm running to work. Bah.

And finally, here are some of the top searched "Keywords of the Week" that people type into Google, which lead them to my blog. Please note the highlighted phrase. I'm not too offended.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Charles Street was lined with old lampposts and brick
buildings that housed vintage dress shops or art galleries. Each step forward
was a step back in time. The gray clouds weren’t dreary; they were quaint and
cozy. The spitting rain wasn’t a nuisance, but the perfect excuse to dip into
basement boutiques. We were content to wonder, with no plans or final
destination, enthralled with a city so divergent from our own.

“New York is like our husband,” said Ivy with a smile that
meant some truism was sure to follow. “I feel like New York is the love of my
life… but Boston’s the hot young thing.” And we laughed, because she was too
close to the truth: New York is home, New York is ours, yetNew York is the
confinement as well as the escape.

This little weekend fling was exciting, and none of us
wanted to admit how much we could
possibly enjoy another city. The accents, the talkative cabbies, the fluffy hotel pillows... It was cheating! Our feelings were defiant against
the tiny slices of life we’d worked so hard to create! Yes, we all needed a
little vacation and a cannoli from Mike's. Yes, we were pleased to be back in our respective
boroughs at

the trip's end.

But no, I’m afraid our love affair with Boston is far from over.

(Editor’s Note to
Future Husband: I will never define you as something so mundane as confining,
but Ivy’s analogy was all too perfect ;)

About the Blog

Two years ago, I made my way to New York City. Currently I'm working at The Huffington Post, writing for their Tech & Social Media vertical. This blog will chronicle my adventures for friends, family, & anyone else who happens by.

WHY the WHY?

"You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems and suffer and understand, for all that is life."